


TOP GUN Haikyū-sho!

by milksalt



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Secret Intelligence/Spies, Concepts from Psycho-Pass, Geniuses, Hacking, Japanese Nobility, Oikawa is ON FIRE, PTSD, Research, Sci-Fi, Worldbuilding, Yakuza / vibes, and so is the rest of Japan, attempted gun porn, qp oisuga, tradecraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-09-01 17:40:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8632426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milksalt/pseuds/milksalt
Summary: January 11th, 2037. Seven years since a method was purported for rating personalities based on cymatic scans. Two years since Oikawa Tōru disappeared on a routine operation.Inspector Tsukishima heads his first case in Criminal Investigations.----------"What," said Kageyama.Kunimi parted his hair sideways, then tucked it beneath a cap, no longer Agent Kite's handler but freeter employee Ichijima Akira. "Don't forget it. Oikawa Tōru is gone."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey hey hey! welcome ♥
> 
> This is just a small, side collection of exclamation!mark!characters I happen to like a lot and things I can have fun researching. If you happen to be an Expert(tm) on some topic and I've gotten details wrong, or overlooked something, please let me know!!
> 
> ★ This is a work of fiction. Any names, places, etc, incidental etc etc, etc. Not a representation of reality. ᕙ(ゝڡ・)✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events in this chapter are chronological ♣

 

 

 **10th JANUARY, 2037**  
**1020 HOURS (JST-19)**

 **KOKO HEAD MOUNTAIN - BASE**  
**Koko Head, Island of Oʻahu**  
**Hawaiʻi, USA**

Air-splitting cracks and gunpowder smoke dissipated in Pacific sunshine. Beneath corrugated iron, between benches that resembled cubicle dividers, Kageyama drew back the bolt, pivoted the rifle into position, and breathed.

Inhale, focus. Realign the sights, let the buttplate press back into his shoulder. An empty cartridge clinked to the ground, unnoticed. The people around him were shadows. Disregarded. Not of immediate importance.

Focus on the target.

Exhale and fire.

The shudder billowed through one side, the round left the chamber, and Kageyama automatically raised his hand to cycle the bolt again.

Two hundred and fifty metres.

A metallic ringing sounded.

Again.

As the third shot crossed the range, Kageyama dry-fired twice more, then lowered the rifle into a position that showed the chamber was empty. Kunimi stood from behind the spotting scope tripoded on one of the benches. He said something, muted amidst gunfire on the other side of earplugs under earmuffs.

_Wind._

Kageyama already knew, having seen its effect through the scope. The shooting range was situated on the island's windy side. He glanced at the rifle and remembered its weight in his grasp. Not all Remingtons were familiar or equal.

The range operators called for a ceasefire. All the other shooters around them proceeded to bench their own firearms, magazines removed to prove they're disarmed. Kunimi was past the threshold and under sunshine as soon as it was safe, ready to remove their target and replace it with something new. Kageyama replaced his safety glasses with a set of binoculars. He stared at the trees at the mountain's base and tried to gauge their movement.

A hand tapped his shoulder from his other side.

Kageyama removed his earplugs.

"I've got a wind meter," their Hawaiian contact said in Japanese. The rifle was borrowed from that man who owned it legally. His hair looked like straw and his sunglasses were reflective and shiny. "If you or Kieran need it. Y'know. Even Troy used it once in a while."

Kageyama realised he was staring.

"Sorry," said Kageyama, in English. "No. I do not need one. Thank you."

"Suit yourself," their contact said in Japanese again.

Kunimi returned to find them talking. "Alex-san. Is there an issue?"

"None," said their contact.

The range operators signalled a return to shooting. Binoculars lowered and safety gear donned, Kageyama pressed four new cartridges into the magazine, then pushed down the bolt to load the first round into the chamber. He adjusted his sights. Kunimi returned to position behind the spotting scope after he finished taking notes, and their contact returned to his own shooting.

Kunimi gave the signal to start.

Kageyama disabled the safety, pivoted the rifle into position, and breathed.

 

 

 

 

 

 **11th JANUARY, 2037**  
**0640 HOURS**

 **??????? - ROOFTOP**  
**Kita-Aoyama, Minato Ward**  
**Tōkyō, Japan**

Every morning at this time of year, sunrise would begin in ten minutes, like clockwork.

In this decade, Tōkyō was beautiful.

Radio antennas and lightning rods rose from complexes which all fought one another for air space. Many of the old billboards from the early century were torn down or replaced by solar panels, light pollution an unwanted glare for an increasingly photosensitive population. In their place was the transition to motes and augmented reality markers. Ultra-fashionable Harajuku and its surrounds at their most futuristic, leading the country in welcoming the rest of the millennium.

Oikawa didn't have his phone, or any of the gear needed to view the screens. He wasn't wearing much of anything, really. Nowhere near enough for the middle of winter.

The door to the roof creaked open to admit a visitor.

"You have an awful habit of staring off tall buildings, Tōru-san."

Oikawa didn't move. Didn't shrug. He fiddled idly with a tension wrench between his fingers.

"Mmm. Find an apartment complex that has more than a five-pin lock keeping the sky away for me, then."

His visitor walked to his side with the tapping of boots much thicker than the indoor slippers which Oikawa were not meant to take so far.

"Do you miss him?" his visitor asked.

"Hardly."

"Then, it's not because of nostalgia that you started drinking so early."

Oikawa gestured with the bottle in one hand, indicating the pre-sunrise spectrum reflecting off the crystal glass, rays refracting in the transition between mediums. "Care to join me, Suga-chan?"

Sugawara laughed. He had a light laugh, where Oikawa's was either deep or mocking. Enough to make a schemer envious.

Envious enough that Oikawa tilted his head curiously at the drink in his hands. It had been new. Unopened. Less than half remained. How fast.

Sugawara would not have missed the contemplation. He chose to pretend he ignored its existence. "I need to be sober today."

"Good choice," Oikawa remarked, simply because he was not. Hadn't been, for the past two days, but not stopping the drink was the best way to raincheck on regret. "It's terrible -- terrible vodka."

"Didn't you say that was your favourite brand?"

"It's all in the temperature. All in the temperature."

Another laugh. Twinkling. Milk froth over seas.

A gleam bounced between them, off a lighter in Sugawara's hands.

"Why don't you warm us up, then?" Sugawara suggested, despite wearing a coat and hat and scarf.

Oikawa's eyebrow went up. "Dragon's breath?"

"Your shows are the best."

"Don't flatter me too much, Suga-chan." Oikawa tucked his lockpicks into pyjama pants and took the lighter into his hands. "I'm so drunk, I might accidentally kill someone."

He tested the lighter when Sugawara smiled, so Oikawa licked his lips, tilted the bottle back, then mouthed. The sun rose, and a great plume of fire tore across the city skyline. Splashes of light dyeing clouds far, far away.

Sugawara applauded. Oikawa took another drink to celebrate the dawn.

"Did you get my message?" said Oikawa.

"The one with the tasks, or the one treating me to dinner?"

"One of those don't exist."

"My bad." Sugawara unwrapped his scarf, not sounding very sorry at all. "I thought you wanted me to stop flattering."

"That definition of flattery needs some work, Pleasant-kun."

Sugawara's smile widened as he reached out and wrapped the scarf around Oikawa's shoulders.

"Don't worry all much, Oikawa _-sa_ ," he said, dialect becoming less polished, closer to mumbling. "A little teasing can't hurt - let your passion loose for a while, eh?" A screen was waved through the air, Sugawara's phone. "I'll have these errands done by midday, so don't sick yourself before you'll execute the rest of your plan!"

He left.

Oikawa raised the bottle and examined its remains. He tipped the glass. The rest of the vodka fell onto the roof, slid and trickled wherever the concrete was not flush. He dipped forward with the lighter like they were partners in dance and the liquid by his feet burst into life.

"What a waste," he muttered.

With two days of alcohol gurgling, a delayed hangover in wait, Oikawa retreated indoors to die over ceramic as the view of the city washed with flashing fire.

 

 

 

 

 

 **10th JANUARY, 2037**  
**1302 HOURS (JST-19)**

 **GRAY'S POINT**  
**Waikīkī, Island of Oʻahu**  
**Hawaiʻi, USA**

"You're thinking about him."

Kageyama stared at the table's grooves. He didn't answer, nor did he need to. Kunimi shifted, and his shadow moved, letting the sun flare across Kageyama's shoulders again. It bothered Kageyama, sometimes, that the sun never left in Hawaii. Surely there should have been an overcast day, at the least, but he'd never witnessed a single cloud shelf in all the trips arranged there.

There was something to be said about modern weather prediction.

A shift of fabric.

"Hey." Kunimi's eyes filled his vision, black and silent. "I'm talking to you. I don't appreciate being ignored when I decide to give you my attention."

"What," said Kageyama.

Kunimi leant back in his seat and flipped a card against the table. The outdoor dining menu. "Please order a drink, Toby."

His language switched to English seamlessly. A waiter passed in the same instant. Slowly, Kageyama fished his own menu from beneath a napkin, and eyed its contents. Kunimi watched him for a moment and flagged the waiter with a brief contact of the eyes.

The waiter came to their side.

"The juice of the today," Kunimi said.

An expectant pause followed. Kageyama frowned. The English letters were starting to wriggle against the bronze-toned paper.

"And you?" The waiter asked, after the silence stretched awkwardly long. "Would you like the same as your brother?"

"Water," said Kageyama. "Please."

The waiter jotted the order down, held the electronic device against the table marker. The marker was shaped like a small surfboard, printed in bright polymers, and had 'Made in China' at the bottom. There was a beep as the order was registered.

Once the waiter left, Kunimi made a disapproving sound. Japanese.

"You are _surrounded_ by water," he said. He inclined his head sideways, and the dark, silent eyes flicked behind Kageyama before flicking back again. "That lack of creativity is _remarkable._ "

"He thought we were brothers," said Kageyama.

"Of course. All Asians look alike. We have the same eyes."

Kunimi's eyes blinked as if to prove his point.

The waiter returned with their drinks. Ice clinked against glass. Kunimi thanked the service warmly. Kageyama noticed that Kunimi's eyes stayed cold though the skin around them pretended to soften.

"My eyes are blue," Kageyama told him.

"And Oikawa's eyes were brown."

Kunimi drank from his glass of neon orange liquid with a straw. When Kageyama took a sip, Kunimi's glass was already half empty, and the lime-decorated ice water froze Kageyama's throat over.

They left with drinks finished and no further words spoken.

" _You_ are Haikyū's key Setter," Kunimi said. Both he and Kageyama were in their hotel room, changing into uniforms of the formerly-zaibatsu Kunimi family's cargo transport service for their return to Japan. A grey polyester-cotton blend beneath hazard vests, worn thin by other people. Second-hand.

"For the last two years," said Kageyama.

"Correct." Kunimi parted his hair sideways, then tucked it beneath a cap, no longer Agent Kite's handler but freeter employee Ichijima Akira. "Don't forget it. In Japan, it will already be the second anniversary. Oikawa Tōru is gone."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [2 : Investigators and prosthetic eyes and dead people before morning tea.]
> 
> Kita-Aoyama shares kanji with Kitagawa-daiichi and Aobajōsai.  
>  ※ please don't attempt to mimic Oikawa at home


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 **11th JANUARY, 2037** **  
** **0758 HOURS**

 **ŌHAMACHI BUILDING**  
**Marunouchi, Chiyoda Ward** **  
** **Tōkyō, Japan**

Kuroo Tetsurō woke every day content with the knowledge that he was damn fucking good at his job.

"Good morning, AMI-san," he greeted the receptionist as he stepped into a lane.

The holographic receptionist greeted him back. She'd probably just be a recording until reason otherwise. Jōsai Banking Corporation was kinda loaded, since it came out of some merger involving Kunimi Personal Finance, but even _they_ wouldn't have around the clock staff for every reception panel on each of the building's forty-one floors.

An archway of scanners picked up the RFID chip in his access card, performed a facial recognition check, and opened building access to him once the floor light went from red to green.

The elevator which Kuroo took guided him to his first stop of the day.

"Good morning, Cicada Cleaning's Kuroo Tetsurō-san," the receptionist on floor ten said.

"Good morning, AMI-san," Kuroo greeted again.

Man. Sometimes the software needed work, but the model was real cute when she bowed like that. Talking to them was great.

He dragged his kit and went to business. Several floors later, Kuroo's mind wandered into loops like an earworm squirming in the head. Philosophy time, a-toodle doodle doo.

Bathrooms, Kuroo figured a couple floors later, would never really change. Sure, buildings changed. He'd seen old buildings compared to new buildings. 4DKs and concrete cubes to geometric symmetry after a stop in scenic glass and gravity defiance, like architects and engineers wanted to prove they could create what common sense deemed impossible. But bathrooms?

Nah. There's a nice modality in that. They might've changed a little, but Japan's had electronic toilets for decades.

He put up a sign outside the east end bathroom on the building's fourteenth floor.

Bathrooms would always be the same.

"Cleaning!" Kuroo called, swinging the door open.

... And he stared.

One of the sinks had a body lying over it. If lying could be used to describe the how the man's legs were planted on the ground, and how his torso bent his head into the faucet like the third leg of a tripod. His arms hung loosely, unresponsively, while a stream of water spilled down his face and into his nose and mouth.

It was very obvious that this unknown man was not breathing.

Aw, _shit._

Kuroo's mop hand twitched when he picked up a distinctive, pungent odour, and he sighed even as he proceeded to call the reception's emergency line.

"Hey, this is Kuroo, from Cicada Cleaning. There's, uh, a dead body on floor 14. Yeah, call the police. Huh? Nah. Don't bother with an ambulance. Say, do you think I'm allowed to clean some of this place before anyone gets here?"

 

 

 

 

 

 **11th JANUARY, 2037** **  
** **0951 HOURS**

 **ŌHAMACHI BUILDING - FLOOR 14**  
**Marunouchi, Chiyoda Ward** **  
** **Tōkyō, Japan**

"Tsukishima Kei," the tall blond introduced himself.

He didn't need to. The badge he was holding out said his name, right next to 'Inspector', with two golden bars and the emblem of the Tōkyō Metropolitan Police Department down the road. The street police had constructed a cordon and pulled Kuroo aside as soon as they'd identified him as a witness. Now the corridor was blocked off, Kuroo was late, and the blond had entered with the company of a dark-haired freckly fellow with a forensics pack and a tiny redhead with limitless sunshine.

The freckly fellow was currently examining the area and the redhead was currently running circles, all but bouncing off walls with a camera in his hands, hissing, "It _reeeeeeeeks_ , ew, ew!"

"I'm the head of this investigation," Tsukishima continued, in the kind of tone that either meant he noticed Kuroo's moment of distraction, or he desperately wanted a new day job. He also didn't seem fazed by the odour permeating throughout the room, so he either had no sense of smell, dealt with shit on a regular basis, or had the most ridiculous poker face on anyone that Kuroo had ever known. "I understand you were the first to discover the body?"

"Yep, that's me," said Kuroo. "Want my business card?"

 _Not particularly_ , Tsukishima's face responded. "Very well."

Kuroo bowed forwards and held a small contact card out in two hands. Habitually, Tsukishima bowed to show his acceptance, and tapped it with a handheld the size of a phone.

"Kuroo Tetsurō, Cicada Cleaning," the blond read.

"We'll always pleasantly surprise you, for the warmth of summer," added Kuroo, who could most definitively recite its tagline upwards, downwards, sideways, bound upside-down and suspended over a septic tank full of eels ...

"You aren't the owner?"

"Nope. Friend of mine."

"You must be very proud to work for him."

"What gave it away?"

Tsukishima smiled. It looked about as natural as a line drawn over correction tape. "I recognise quality work when I see it. To get this custom-made - you're really a professional, Kuroo-san."

When Kuroo opened his mouth, it was an accident that he breathed in instead of letting words go out. So maybe some pride blossomed, just a bit.

"Heh," said Kuroo. The warmth crawled from his chest to his speech. Just a bit. "Thanks for your words. How about you finish asking those questions you wanted info for?"

"Are you in a hurry?" Tsukishima asked.

"I'm running a very tight schedule today."

"Do you work multiple sites?"

"You could say that."

For a moment, Tsukishima looked as if he wanted to question what that response meant, until his attention was caught by something behind where Kuroo was standing.

Tsukishima's head dipped. "Please excuse me." And he walked past Kuroo to talk with one of the officers manning the cordon.

A bright orange smudge bobbed in the corner of Kuroo's vision.

"Hey!" The tiny redhead exclaimed. Or - not so tiny. With the yardstick called Tsukishima Kei gone, Kuroo realised the redhead wasn't so short at all, just a smidge below average. The redhead boggled at Kuroo curiously. "Wondering 'bout some-think, Mister Janitor?"

"Hmm?" While the dialect was surprising, Kuroo adjusted to the country Tōhoku-ben easily. "What makes you think that?"

The redhead's arms made wild gesturing motions. "You kept staring at me, like, guuuu- _to!_ Super serious."

 _Guuuu-to?_ thought Kuroo. "Eh, I wasn't thinking too much --"

"No way," said the redhead. One moment, he was peering into Kuroo's face, then in a flash, he'd already backed up and held out a hand. "I'm Hinata Shōyō," he introduced. "Who're you?"

"Kuroo Tetsurō." Kuroo flexed his fingers to check their feedback, then shook it. Hinata's grip was light like a landed little bird.

A beep sounded in the distance. The freckled fellow was still going around the bathroom, marking evidence and taking notes of how everything was found. A green laser light shone against the faucet as he scanned for oily fingerprint residues.

"Pretty cool name, Kuroo-san," Hinata gushed.

Kuroo rubbed the back of his neck. "It's my name," he said.

"It _is!_ " Hinata agreed. "So, so? I introduced myself, but you still look thoughtful, ehh. Was there anything you wanted to know much?"

"Not really, I'm behind as it is," Kuroo remarked. "You guys seem pretty overkill."

There was another beep as another set of fingerprints were found.

The redhead blinked. "Overkill?"

"It was just a heart attack."

"How do you know that?" Tsukishima said suddenly.

Kuroo turned towards the voice. Tsukishima stood directly behind him, limbs settled into the posture of someone who had been there for a while. An itch sped up the length of Kuroo's spine.

Tsukishima turned to Hinata. "The technicians are almost here, please go and greet their arrival." He nodded. "Thanks for your work."

There was a sharp salute. "Gotcha, Tsukk-- Inspector!" Hinata bounded off. His exit was swift and Kuroo watched him ducking under police tape and hopping around the corner.

"Ya'know," Kuroo commented, idly, "if you wanted to ask me a question, you don't have to dance the long way like that. Save you guys the trouble."

"My question still stands," said Tsukishima.

Kuroo raised an eyebrow. "How I know it's just a heart attack? Or why I deliberately didn't request an ambulance in the call? -- which, I'm sure you know."

All of a sudden, it's as if Kuroo's working for a food delivery service. Tsukishima smiled, eyes closed and head inclined, glasses shining briefly for an instant, all silver platter-like, more satisfied than a ... a ... cream puff.

"Both, if you would," Tsukishima said angelically.

Damn. Ain't _he_ the most charming cream puff in the world?

"Well." _Itadakimasu_. Kuroo resisted the urge to lick his lips. Maybe he'd check the epithet once he edited his memoirs. "The answer's the same. I worked as an EMT. Volunteering."

"When was this?"

It was getting hard to speak. "Uhh ..." Kuroo cleared his throat. "Ten years ago."

Tsukishima's eyes shifted.

"During the Riots?" he asked.

Kuroo shrugged too casually. "You say that, you might as well call in the trumpets and the marching band, Inspector, 'cause it --"

"Tsukki!" shouted Hinata. He appeared not a second later. "The technicians are here ..." Tsukishima looked at him. Hinata froze and trembled. He gulped, and switched to Standard Japanese, "Um. Inspector Tsukishima, s- sir."

Tsukishima turned back to Kuroo. His smile was still there, but now, that cream puff froze into a chunk of hail, freshly served through a windshield, iced- _bloody_ -cold. "Let's finish this conversation later. They've travelled all the way here, so it would be rude to keep them waiting."

It wasn't a suggestion. Kuroo imagined he used that tone several times a day.

Tsukishima turned to Hinata. "Update me on Yamaguchi's findings."

"Ayup!" Hinata's bounce back was enviable. "Whenabouts?"

"Send it to my handheld." Tsukishima walked, then stopped. "Kuroo-san?"

A distance languished between them. Kuroo understood he was meant to close it, so he did. Tsukishima signalled to one of the street officers, and they nodded before hurrying over.

"Hinata-san?" said Kuroo, before leaving.

"What's up?" Hinata asked.

"How old are you?"

 _Nineteen_ , expected Kuroo.

Hinata saluted and beamed. "Twenty-seven this year!"

 

 

 

 

 

As he followed Tsukishima into the elevators, Kuroo's thoughts resembled the following:

  1. What: _What the hell._ Hinata did not look twenty-seven.
  2. How: Hinata walked with angles and bursts like he's finally excited to jump out of puberty. Hinata _did not look twenty-seven._
  3. Himself: He (Kuroo) would be so late that Inuoka would likely have to pull in aid to cover, and as generous as his boss could be, Inuoka was going to _skin his ass_.



It was with this welcoming prospect that Kuroo walked behind the blond Inspector, feeling the street officer trailing behind the convoy, and Kuroo barely registered crossing the foyer until he stepped out of the front of the building. They headed for an unmarked van parked on the sidewalk. White-backed and blue-bellied, it wore red siren lights like a bow, a dish antenna like a fascinator, and was large enough to mama-hen delivery to the entire ward. Upon Tsukishima's approach, a door on the side opened, and someone stepped outside.

The first thing Kuroo saw were electric yellow cat's eyes, set in the sockets of a doll. Multiple layers of skin grafts formed the rest of the face, invisible unless a person knew they existed, and Kuroo already knew that porcelain features were due to a damaged facial nerve within the skull.

"... You," they said, in lieu of greeting.

Tsukishima stopped, very visibly. "You know him, Kozume-sensei?"

"Nn."

Kuroo gave a little wave. Their two-colour hair was unmistakable. "Congratulations on your nomination, Kenma."

Kenma bowed, very respectfully. "I'm still nothing compared to you, Kuroo-sensei."

"Sensei?" asked Tsukishima.

A pair of unnerving cat eyes flickered between them. Their hue shifted from yellow to lime green.

Kuroo shrugged. _Do what you want._

Kenma's shoulders relaxed and his eyes returned to yellow.

"Dr. Kuroo Tetsurō," Kuroo's star student mumbled, in his trademark drawl. "My computational linguistics professor ... before. He supervised my PhD."

Kuroo's grin could have cleaved a crescent from the moon.

"Cicada Cleaning," said Kuroo. "We'll always pleasantly surprise you."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [3 : Elite officers and suspicious pills and six degrees of separation.]
> 
> P-PLEASE FORGIVE ME I will come up with something more consistent for the Tōhoku-ben, but, Hinata's just a not-so-little kid from Miyagi that sometimes takes advantage of his ability to country doohickey talkin' ...  
>  ( do take a look at the [tumblr tag](http://milksalt.tumblr.com/tagged/haikyuusho-\(milksalt\)) for more background infos, sometime ~ )


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know that guy!" Tendō exclaimed. "Isn't he the dude whose name is Keiji? So when you're calling him Detective Akaashi, you're really calling 'im _Akaashi-keiji?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay ~~  
> This entry isn't chronological, but I believe it ought to be understandable☆

 

 

**6th JANUARY, 2037  
** **0940 HOURS**

**TŌKYŌ METROPOLITAN POLICE DEPARTMENT HEADQUARTERS  
** **Kasumigaseki, Chiyoda Ward  
** **Tōkyō, Japan**

"Inspector Tsukishima."

At 180cm, the man in the corridor was tall but not the tallest. Broad, sharp-featured, a voice which could project itself across a field; these were all attributes which Tsukishima kept recorded. A pin was affixed to the lapel of his suit, shiny. It shone with the characteristics of real gold, was designed to fade at the edges. Plated, in all likelihood, given the colour below. He had presence; others said their greetings with the correct level of respect to him, their superior.

Inspector Tsukishima Kei assessed all of these observations in the second it took for him to bow.

"Superintendent," said Tsukishima. He straightened into a sharp salute. "Good morning."

Superintendent Iwaizumi Hajime, head of Criminal Investigations, nodded. "Good morning. Would you have a moment?"

"It would be my honour."

As the two of them headed for Iwaizumi's office, Tsukishima rearranged his plans for the morning.

"Congratulations on your promotion. You have worked hard for it," said Iwaizumi.

"Thank you, sir."

"Have you moved desks yet?"

"Not at this time."

"Well," said Iwaizumi, standing in the doorway of his office so it would not swing closed, "once you do, remember to maintain relations with your former colleagues. They'll be working under you, now. Please have a seat."

Tsukishima responded with his thanks and entered the room. Its components were: A desk on the far end with a chair, facing the door, in front of a window with blinds securely closed. A wide tapestry of calligraphic plum blossoms hanging on one wall. Two sofas, and a coffee table with a light circular stain from molecules bonded atop the wood. Tsukishima took a seat on a sofa, mindful of the length of his suit jacket, and Iwaizumi took a seat on the sofa opposite to him.

"This is in regards to your case," said Iwaizumi. "I've looked over the reports, and spoken with your senior colleagues. They share my opinion that it may be too much for you as a new Inspector. Would you be confident in continuing it on your own?"

With Iwaizumi's rank, Tsukishima took care not to stumble over subtext. Both _yes_ and _no_ would be too hasty. "I believe that the qualifications which led to my promotion should also apply here, sir."

"This case has not had any apparent leads of recent. Any leads you once had have died. Are you certain you can make progress alone?"

"I understand your concern, but, there are no such things as traceless crimes, sir."

"There is not. Surely a more experienced mentor would help?"

Tsukishima kept his voice even. "That sounds like an astounding opportunity. But, I ... would not like to impose."

"... I will tell you about him."

Iwaizumi's knuckles rapped the side of the coffee table. Its inbuilt projectors cast a hologram over the wooden surface, blank until Iwaizumi called up a specific file from his terminal, and then the long lines of an Asian man hovered as a mugshot between them.

"Ushijima Wakatoshi," said Iwaizumi. "Thirty-four, with degrees in psychology, sociology and criminal procedure. A highly distinguished Gakushūin student from seventeen to twenty-one, and a problem-solving IQ which the human race will likely never see for at least two more generations. He is currently in Germany and will return from his research at the end of this week. The two of you are fellow prodigies -- are you acquaintances?"

Tsukishima shook his head. "No, sir. I have heard of his name."

"He is the mentor under consideration."

When Tsukishima glanced downwards, he saw one of his hairs had fallen onto his trousers. The gold drew attention to itself against black matte. He was blonde and light-eyed among a nation of dark hair and dark eyes. Born in Japan, raised there for years, it was still easy to pick him out of a crowd as 'that foreigner, the one who came from France.'

Unless one had seen him standing beside his father, Iwaizumi Hajime was not as distinct. The Superintendent General had a presence which could mute a thousand men in mere moments, and Tsukishima could see him in the stony features which gave no clues about Japanese power play. Between them, Ushijima's portrait gazed with all the haught of those who fashioned themselves as superior.

A mentor. Talking to Iwaizumi was like talking to the chief of the Tōkyō MPD.

Tsukishima did not know if Superintendent Iwaizumi liked him.

"Please consider this," said Iwaizumi. "There are many who would wish for the tutelage of our miracle case closer."

Ushijima was adored by magazines for his justice and noble heritage. There were television series with their characters based on Criminal Investigations' star celebrity.

Tsukishima bowed. There was a tightness in his chest.

"I would be grateful to accept such an honour."

Now Tsukishima would be the twenty-seven year old foreigner from France, who first attended university at sixteen, and the first to be mentored by Ushijima Wakatoshi without being assigned to his exclusive team.

 

 

 

 

 

**11th JANUARY 2037  
** **1013 HOURS**

**ŌHAMACHI BUILDING - OUTSKIRTS  
** **Marunouchi, Chiyoda Ward  
** **Tōkyō, Japan**

Discounting tyre height, the body of Kozume Kenma's mobile research unit was 2.2m tall. On the inside, multiple layers of hydraulics and cabling and carpet and shielding reduced the floor to ceiling length to 1.9m. It would be tall enough for most people, if Tsukishima Kei were 'most people'. At 1.94m, Tsukishima was accustomed to taking the seat by the door.

Ahead of him, the tips of Kuroo's dark mane brushed against the roof as he scanned the small room. Kozume indicated the reclining chair in the centre, and Kuroo dropped into it with careless ease.

"Nice dentist's office," Kuroo said.

Tsukishima began a speech he'd memorised years ago. "Please ack --"

"Thirty centimetres," said Kuroo.

"-- nowledge ..." Tsukishima stopped. "What?"

"It's smaller inside than it is outside, ain't it? This wall behind me, between inside and out - thirty centimetres. And on that wall, and _that_ wall over there, too." Kuroo grinned and craned his head around to where Kozume hovered at a console silently. "Lot of sensitive equipment you've got here, Kenma."

Tsukishima cleared his throat. "Please --"

"I acknowledge."

"You give up your --"

"Really." Kuroo continued watching Kozume, and rolled up his sleeve when Kozume gestured for him. "EMT? Riots? I've heard it already before."

Tsukishima decided that the witness called Kuroo Tetsurō had a smirk that was _incredibly_ obnoxious. Perhaps he had enemies.

"Then you realise that statement will be what goes to court."

"I haven't doubted your handheld and its recording mode even once, Inspector." Kuroo looked curiously at a strip of nodes affixed to his arm. "What's this for, Kenma?"

Kozume paused in the process of lowering a large helmet, navigating a line of wall-mounted cables carefully.

"A trial ..." Kozume murmured past frozen cheeks. "For ... a new generation of police equipment. It is imperative that you relax. Be truthful, and the lie detector will output a true result."

"A lie detector, eh?" Kuroo remarked.

Kozume nodded as he fastened the helmet atop Kuroo's head. "Correct."

"How long've you been working on this? I haven't seen any papers beside the usual."

"Four years, Kuroo-sensei."

"Right after I resigned, huh."

"Is there a conflict of interest?" Tsukishima asked.

"No," said Kozume. A thin film lowered and rose as his bionic eyes pretended to blink, and his fingers followed a long cable to a monitor. "Human minds can be swayed by emotions, from those they like and those they hate, and, even those they presume they have no relation to at all. My mind may be flesh, but this algorithm runs on the rules of quantum qubits. Modern transistors cannot be deceived. Every test can be audited. Every decision is repeatable within the same memory-matrix scope. Any flaws are due to modelling error, which is the independent variable under current examination."

Kozume stood on his toes and pulled down the projection screen collapsed within the ceiling. It hissed as it unfurled more forcibly than necessary.

Babbling. Tsukishima'd never heard Dr. Kozume Kenma so tense before. He made a note in the records, _No conflict of interest assured_ , but made a conscious decision not to write Kozume's defensiveness down.

The side of Tsukishima's head tingled.

From under the helmet, Kuroo was watching him.

"Kuroo-sensei, this should not affect your implants," said Kenma, more stilted and softly, running his fingers along the length of the cables. "But to be sure, please switch them to sleep mode."

Kuroo dipped his head, and his shoulders loosened.

"Done," he said.

Kozume switched the projector on. The screen was a barrier of light, and Tsukishima could not discern the words reflected off electric yellow eyeballs.

Kozume typed, nodding briefly to confirm his preparations were complete. "Thank you for your cooperation."

A tilt from the helmet. "Anytime."

The fans in the back switched on and whirred.

Tsukishima's handheld buzzed with the notification of new updates. He gave Yamaguchi's forensics summary a quick skim. Hinata also sent an unofficial mail containing preliminary findings on one Dr. Kuroo Tetsurō, PhD of the Tōkyō Institute of Technology, renowned internationally for his work in the Kuroo-Shirani Inference Framework, _Black & White_. There was one mobility implant permit registered for his brain, and at the bottom of the message, a smiley face said, "You owe me lunch again!"

 _Send me information on Kozume's papers_ , Tsukishima responded.

Hinata replied: _Don't nag me for a week!_

The corner of Tsukishima's mouth twitched at the Sergeant that could never keep things personal. It was a casual familiarity echoed by the pair of computer scientists which Tsukishima was supposed to be monitoring. Tsukishima noted the body language: both doctors still; one focused on his screen, the other so relaxed he could be sleeping.

Irrelevant observations were indexed and shelved.

He turned to Kuroo and started questioning.

 

 

 

 

 

**11th JANUARY, 2037  
** **1300 HOURS**

**TŌKYŌ METROPOLITAN POLICE DEPARTMENT HEADQUARTERS  
** **Kasumigaseki, Chiyoda Ward  
** **Tōkyō, Japan**

"Man," said a voice, pitched and masculine, "being called into work on a Sunday ain't great, ya know?"

It belonged to a lanky redhead entering the conference room. Sunken sullen features and a loud, logo-adorned sweater could not shroud a buzzing, fidgeting of the limbs. Wiry hands covered in fingerless gloves were animated as they pointed from Tsukishima to the person following behind him -- a broad male, dark suit, and dark, close-cropped hair.

Tsukishima saluted. The broader man saluted back. The redhead shrugged and hopped to sit on the table.

"Detective Tsukishima?" The broader man asked. Tsukishima nodded. "I am Ōhira Reon. Senior Inspector Ushijima has an urgent family matter and had asked us to come to this briefing in his place. He sends his apologies for being unable to attend." Ōhira sent a glance to the table. "Please pardon Tendō's manners. He is ... excusable."

Tsukishima did not understand what the remark meant. Tendō's gaze was intense past half-lidded eyes. Tsukishima knew his place better than to ask.

"I appreciate your time, Inspector Ōhira, Inspector Tendō," said Tsukishima. "Please give Inspector Ushijima my regards."

Ōhira nodded without words.

"So, so?" said Tendō, shifting back and forth. "What's this urgent business that needs _Sir Wakatoshi's_ attention?"

The handheld in Tsukishima's palm vibrated as it linked to the screen. In unison, the side of the room lit up in panels as each projector switched on, performing boot-up synchronisation checks, and a set of six cameras spun to locate the inhabitants in the room.

"This is regarding our shared case," Tsukishima said. "Today, at approximately 8 AM, a man was found dead in an office building. Cause of death: heart attack. In his belongings ... a certain heart medication."

He pulled up five 3D scans and five photographs; today's discovery, and four cases before. Each holographic pill bottle was identical as they hovered, drawing the eye - a constellation.

"The bottle is of the same make, size, batch number and use by date --"

"They are also placebos, this one?" Ōhira asked. "You have received the lab result?"

"The lab has confirmed that there are no active ingredients, that is correct."

Ōhira looked at the photos. He did not blink. They all depicted death sites in various disarray.

"But are they the same as the previous placebos which we have found?" he asked.

"The lab is still attempting to ascertain the exact chemical composition. That said --"

"You are very confident that this is the same case."

Tsukishima didn't hesitate, but the phrasing caught him off guard. Ōhira's stare was not oppressive, not overbearing. It was expectant and waiting, like an examiner.

Tendō's shifting proved to be obvious in the pause. He pulled up one of his legs and idly flicked his hands like he were spinning an invisible ball off the tip of an index finger.

Neither Tsukishima nor Ōhira moved.

The identical pill bottles continued hovering in Tsukishima's peripheral vision.

"The - circumstances are the same," said Tsukishima. He was repeating himself. "It's ... bad practice to draw links between incidents where the only similarities are that the victims possessed this medication, placebos, despite not being a part of any clinical trials, I understand --"

"How long have you been on this case, Detective Tsukishima?" said Ōhira.

"Three ... four months."

"Since before you were promoted?"

"It was owned previously by Inspector Akaashi."

"I know that guy!" Tendō exclaimed. "Isn't he the dude whose name is Keiji? So when you're calling him Detective Akaashi, you're really calling 'im _Akaashi-keiji?"_

"The medication similarity is not the problem," said Ōhira, slowly. "What is an issue is how you are trying to seek conclusions without having taken a look at all the facts. There is nothing to go on in this incident."

The facts. Tsukishima had the facts. There were very few knowns. In fact --

"The building's janitor was the one who notified us. He did not call for an ambulance. His fingerprints were found on the body."

Tsukishima's statements stilled the room into silence.

Tendō's eyes flicked from the screen, to Tsukishima, then he leaned back and stared up at the lights in the ceiling.

"You _know_ who we are, right?" said Tendō.

Tendō had swung around and stuck his fingers into Tsukishima's face so suddenly that Tsukishima reacted instantly; the wrists were grabbed, and the hands were twisted away. 

"I ..." Tsukishima hesitated. "Yes?"

Tendō peered at the space where the hands had been with interest. "Nice reaction." He raised his brows. "Aikido?"

Tsukishima chose not to answer.

"Well, whatever." Tendō shrugged. He slid off the desk and pat off his clothes. "I don't really think you _realise_ who we are. Good thing it wasn't Wakatoshi-kun being called in today. That'd be embarrassing."

 _Embarrassing._ Tsukishima stiffened to his full height instead of the half-slouch he'd adopted ever since his return to Japan. Perhaps Tendō's specialty lay in loaded remarks - that was the reason he was considered excusable - as the comment sent a jolt arcing up Tsukishima's spine. His jaw ached with the pressure to remain diplomatic. "A body was found in a state of unconsciousness. What is the chance that an ordinary person would bypass calling the ambulance in this situation?"

The silence returned.

The second time, Tsukishima noted Ōhira's large silhouette already moving towards the door. He correctly interpreted the mood which he should have realised in the instant when Tendō ceased feigning interest in the room. Dismissal.

"You are too close to this case, Detective Tsukishima," said Ōhira. "What you are assuming is entirely based upon generalisation. I will report to Ushijima-san that this particular suspect appears to be chosen from emotions under the guise of instinct."

"Hey, don't take offence," said Tendō, waving a hand in a manner which could only be read as insincere. "I can see why Sup' Iwaizumi put us on this with 'ya. Those kinds of logic, you'll get nowhere on this sorta case at all. Just you wait until Wakatoshi gets here. He'll point to a map, like _this_ ," a finger stabbed the giant chart of Tōkyō which was fixed to one wall, "and say, 'This is where your last incident was discovered', then," Tendō put his fingers together, mimed his hands into guns, and pretended to stare down the sight at Tsukishima, " _Bang!_ 'This is who they are and what they intend to do.'"

"He is inexperienced, Tendō," Ōhira said. Tsukishima's chest tightened as Ōhira forced Tendō's arms down. "Please do not dishearten our newest colleague."

"Yeah, yeah."

Inspector Ōhira Reon's rich voice and heavy logic continued: "You understand, now, that you must collect more evidence before facilitating a brainstorm. This case is vastly incomplete and I am certain that Ushijima-san will have many further questions to ask of you as soon as he is next available."

"Meet you downstairs, Reon. I'm up for some snacking."

Ōhira inclined his head and took his leave. "Please excuse our interruption."

They disappeared.

Tsukishima was left staring at the map well after. They spoke of logic. 

Except.

With no address given, Tendō had already pointed to the correct crime scene.

 

 

 

 

 

**11th JANUARY, 2037  
** **1031 HOURS**

**ŌHAMACHI BUILDING - OUTSKIRTS  
** **Marunouchi, Chiyoda Ward  
** **Tōkyō, Japan**

"-- we took the same track, Kenma and I. I was his senpai all through high school, and we were at a specialist boarding school, so it meant you could graduate at nineteen with credits considered equivalent to a bachelor's degree. Pretty handy, since you can't skip grades in Japan. Tōkyō Tech took me on as an adjunct professor in '29 for three years, up to when I was twenty-seven. The PI firm I went to after that worked for two years until I bumped into Inuoka again one day and, here I am."

"They're very different jobs from what you have now," said Tsukishima.

Kuroo shrugged. "A guy gets sick of academia."

"I see." Tsukishima glanced at the time, then at the projection in the corner of his glasses, where he'd put the mail with Hinata's findings for convenient reference. "Then you would say your paper is not academia?"

For a long time, Kuroo was silent. Tsukishima could only tell that Kuroo was facing him, though he could not see his expression. It was an unavoidable design aspect that the helmet obscured the wearer's face, said Kozume, when Tsukishima had been a detective in a room of police detectives and briefed regarding the integration of Kozume's research for the National Police Agency.

Tsukishima marked the timestamp as one of interest. The helmet had several cameras embedded into it, and he would be able to check the video feeds later.

Kuroo tapped one of his feet against the ground, some erratic rhythm which didn't still.

"See," said Kuroo, finally, "I like my job. Gives me plenty of time to think. What's important, what's not ... what stuff to send to a team of kids paid to do experiments and processing for me. So I don't like the way you're lumping things together, y'know?"

"Lumping?" said Tsukishima.

"You can't generalise like that. Life ain't a solid. It's too high-energy for it."

Both of Tsukishima's brows rose. "Endothermic reference."

"Yep. Physicist, are you?"

"For when were you an EMT?"

"2026 to 2030."

"Whilst studying your doctorate," Tsukishima calculated. "How were you assigned, during those four volunteering years?"

"Most of 'em were ambulance calls. Just assistant work, vital signs, but it's amazing how much basic stuff makes a difference. Don't you think?" Kuroo's voice was filled with reverence, an awe that spoke of the fragility of the human body and the impossible odds with which its cells managed to maintain normal function. Then Kuroo's head tilted to one side, his foot started tapping again. " _Are_ you a physicist?"

"I am a detective," said Tsukishima, ignoring a sudden scratch in the back of his mind. Physicist. Scientist. _Detective._ "Were you given any tasks regarding the procurement of supplies at that time? Bandages, medication …"

"None."

Tsukishima stayed still.

"No, really," said Kuroo, when it was clear that Tsukishima was not going to fill the silence. "I was a casual, an extra hand in a time when there weren't enough hands to go around. The boss handled that."

"Who was your boss?"

"Kai Nobuyuki. _Kai_ , like the ocean -- _nobu_ , trust ..."

Tsukishima jotted the name down, noting the kanji to the side. He proceeded to ask further questions about Kuroo's achievements, then re-confirmed Kuroo's janitorial duties before finding the victim and his movements as soon as he was on the crime scene.

"I checked his pulse, but, the colour of his skin gave him away," said Kuroo.

Further words were exchanged, then Tsukishima had nothing else to say.

Tsukishima signalled the session's end. Kozume tugged the projection screen to send it back into the ceiling, gracefully slid to his feet, and then unlatched the helmet holding Kuroo's skull.

Kuroo rolled his neck and jumped out of the chair as soon as all the cables were free.

He grinned. "Still need me for anything?"

"Not at the moment," said Tsukishima.

The reply was distracted. Tsukishima sent the forensics findings to his glasses, opening another document at the same time. As soon as the text materialised, he felt another sensation of being watched.

Kuroo's eyes were on Tsukishima as he adjusted something on his wrists through his sleeves.

"You're real young," said Kuroo.

"What of it?" Tsukishima replied.

"Nothing, I'm respectin' you." Kuroo shrugged. "You don't smell like an elite."

The words did not smell like a compliment, either. "Your remark has been acknowledged."

"Lighten up, oya. You're an officer, you drink coffee? Yes?"

"I don't have an interest in any propositions."

"You're bright, I can see it. Takes people until their thirties at least to get to the rank you've got, if they ain't special. Finish school early? Overseas?" For a moment, a feral intelligence crossed Kuroo's expression and peeked past his grin. In the next instant it was gone. "I've a lot of contacts. I can introduce you to people. Half of life is networking, yeah?"

Tsukishima was spared from having to respond when Kozume not-so-subtly gestured for them to exit his lab.

"The results have been sent to your division, Inspector Tsukishima," said Kozume. "I look forward to your next paper, Kuroo-sensei."

"Likewise." Kuroo nodded. "I'm about as eagerly awaiting yours as the government is. Revolutionary stuff."

They stepped out onto the sidewalk.

"You're free to leave," said Tsukishima simply.

Tsukishima's handheld buzzed. Hinata had sent his findings:

> _Dr. Kozume Kenma (30)_
> 
> _Associate Chief Scientist @ RIKEN Research Institute_

In the background, Kuroo shouted, "Let me know if you wanna go for drinks, genius kid!" A shadow was his arm as it waved. "I'll treat. You have my number!"

A list of publications followed.

> 2030: _The Predictive Capacity of Cymatic Aptitude Ray-Point Systems._ Used for PhD, supervisors Prof. Shimada Makoto, Dr. Kuroo Tetsurō.
> 
> 2033: _Navigating Associative Memory with Cymatic Aptitude Ray-Point Analysis._
> 
> 2035: _CARPA: Stress as an Indicator._

Tsukishima automatically began decomposing the keywords _Ray-Point Systems_ and _Ray-Point Analysis_ , wondering if there existed a larger distinction beyond semantic phrasing. He sensed when Kuroo vanished and closed his eyes to allow himself a sigh.

"What sort of idiot asks a police detective out for drinks as soon as they've finished questioning them?" he muttered.

"That one," a voice said.

Tsukishima spun around. Kozume had appeared in the doorway of the van, presumably to watch Kuroo leaving. The message with Hinata's findings was closed and Tsukishima watched Kozume to see if he noticed what was written on his screen.

Kozume nodded his head, bionic eyes a shade of burnt orange. "He's always been like that. Inspector Tsukishima. Please have a good day."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [4 : Lunch with the aristocracy, tea with a black knight, dinner with an owl.]
> 
> I can't say the next update is guaranteed to be within any reasonable time. Sorry.

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  This is so research-heavy, criticism and nitpicking are always welcome ~   
>  ► next updates status at [tumblr](http://milksalt.tumblr.com/) ◄   
>  ・[main tag](http://milksalt.tumblr.com/tagged/haikyuusho-\(milksalt\))   
>  ・[locations](https://milksalt.tumblr.com/post/154272020775/locations)   
> 


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